A Trip Back In Time
by BlackHeart96
Summary: Harry gets sent back in time to 1937 where he ends up living with Bucky and Steve. He learns of betrayals from people he never expected. Dumbledore/Molly/Ron/Ginny Bashing. Rated T for now, it might go up later. I'm breaking this story into 2 parts, so slash will not come until the second part. No flaming please, just constructive criticism. I hope you enjoy my story!


**A Trip Back in Time**

Chapter 1: The Trip

Hi guys... Sorry I haven't posted anything in a ridiculously long time.

This is a story that's been bouncing around in my head for the last couple months. I hope you guys like it.

 _XYZ-_ thoughts  
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Harry bit his hand, trying to stifle his moan of pain. The burn on his back was the cause. It was not a new pain to him though: the Dursleys made sure to take him to get the cross re-burned every summer.

Yes, the Dursleys took him to church. Even though they thought religion was abnormal, they still believed it was better than his freakishness. It had taken them years, when he had been a child, to find a priest that would perform exorcisms on Harry. All the others had said that Harry was not possessed by any evil spirits or demons.

Father Richard, though, was a man who never truly cared for others. He was more than willing to line his pockets with the money that the Dursleys had offered him. As long as he got paid, he was happy. He had entered priesthood simply because as long as he acted nice in front of other clergy and preached like a believer, then he could do whatever he wanted behind closed doors (like steal funds from the church). So when the Dursleys came along, he happily supplied them with his services. He would perform exorcisms and later, when he learned from the Dursleys that they weren't affecting Harry's magic, he moved on to a cross-shaped branding iron that had once been used to brand sinners and those accused of being witches. He had found it in the basement of his church hidden in a corner, long forgotten.

It was a great source of satisfaction to the Dursleys and Father Richard that when they used the cross on Harry for the first time, his magic "accidents" stopped for months. It had been his ninth birthday, and Harry can say without a doubt, that was the worst birthday in his life. While Father Richard and the Dursleys thought that they were temporarily sealing Harry's magic, Harry had come to realize that his magic was not sealed but in fact redirected to healing the burn before he could get sick from infection.

Unfortunately, this time it seemed like his magic was sluggish, almost as if it were drugged. Harry kept trying to focus his fevered mind but every time he tried he would get distracted by the uncomfortable lumps in his thin, tiny mattress or the sound of his fat cousin stomping up and down the stairs, causing spiders to rain down on Harry's back. The little creatures landing on his raw skin caused him bite his hand harder to avoid screaming and annoying his uncle. Harry felt that another beating today would not be beneficial to his back at all. He closed his eyes, wanting to fall asleep to escape this horrible reality. He quietly started to hum a lullaby that danced on the edges of his memories.

"Lay down

Your sweet and weary head

The night is falling

You have come to journey's end…" Harry hummed as he fell into a fitful slumber.

While Harry slept, a man appeared in the cupboard next to him. Had anyone looked in they would have wondered how a man 7 feet tall could fit in such a small space. It was almost as if the cupboard had grown to accommodate this man's size.

The man reached out a bleached bone white hand, running his long slender fingers through Harry's raven hair. His Killing curse green eyes narrowed -it appeared as though it had been hacked with a weed cutter, the jagged edges showing as he shifted Harry's hair. Apparently Petunia had been less than careful with her attempts at barbering. A brush appeared in the man's hand, and with a startling gentleness, he brushed Harry's hair. With each stroke it grew back in spots and when it was all the same length, it began to grow even longer. By the time the odd, gentle, giant man had stopped, Harry's hair reached below Harry's waist.

The brush disappeared from the man's hand. He reached behind his head and pulled down his horsetail, removing the tie that bound it together. Inky black hair cascaded around his face, swallowing up all the light that touched it. Then he quickly and efficiently braided Harry's now-beautiful hair, tying it off with his own hair tie.

He reached over and flicked the spiders off of Harry's back. His hand hovered over the burn for a moment, eyes tracing the burn. It started at Harry's hairline on the back of his neck, reaching down to the dimples above his backside, and spanning from the tip of one shoulder blade to the other. Each angry line in Harry's smooth, pale flesh was 4.5 inches wide, and the man could see that the burn was sunk in and scarred from many repeated burns. He could see blackened trenches with veins of red where the pieces no longer met. The edges of the burn were puffy, swelling from the infections that were taking root there.

The man's hand started to glow but he flinched back, swearing under his breath. He was not allowed to interfere beyond a certain point. So he grabbed one of Dudley's old shirts and dressed Harry. He pressed a loving kiss to Harry's lightning bolt scar before disappearing in a flash of light. When the light dissipated, Harry too, was gone.

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes grunted as he dropped the crate he was carrying onto the stack. He could smell the spices inside, making his stomach growl. He winced and went to retrieve the next crate. He had to move as many as he could before his shift was over, because the more he moved the more he was paid. Such was life working in the port. Bucky needed all the money he could get, with Steve being sick again and unable to get out of bed, let alone work. Without his added income, the bills were starting to stack up. Especially the doctor's bills; even though the man was giving them a discount, he still had to charge them.

So for the last two weeks the majority of Bucky's income went to paying the rent, the utilities and the doctor. What little was left over was spent on food. Bucky fed and cared for Steve the best he could, trying to help him feel better with the best food he could afford, and cheerful banter to go with it. Bucky couldn't help but wonder if his food was in fact making Steve worse because, Bucky's cooking was abysmal.

Roughly picking up the next crate, Bucky heard a small whimper from inside. He froze, listening carefully. It was not uncommon to find half-alive animals inside the crates and each time Bucky found them, he told them that they were lucky that they had fallen into Howard Stark's shipping crates because in anyone else's they would have died. Howard Stark's ships would only take 2-3 days to travel across the ocean from Europe to New York, others' took much longer. Bucky guessed it paid to be rich. Women fell across Stark's feet, men wanted to make business deals, and everything got done faster.

Bucky lightly rocked the crate, causing another small cry that did not, now that he thought about it, sound in any way like an animal. Setting down the crate as quickly and gently as he could, Bucky grabbed a crowbar and popped the lid off. The smell of iron struck him in the face, which was unusual. Finding stowaways was not an uncommon occurrence but when opening their crates, it always smelled like urine and feces, not blood.

Peering in, Bucky bites back a cry of shock. Inside the crate was a small boy who couldn't be more than twelve years old. His limbs were thin and delicate, appearing as though they would snap if Bucky touched them. His raven hair had once been in a braid but now it was loose and knotted. His face was gaunt, covered in sweat, his cheeks bright red.

Bucky reached into the crate and placed his hand on the boy's forehead. He swore as he realized that this unfortunate boy was running a dangerously high fever. Carefully picking him up, Bucky ran to his boss's office, sweeping through thresholds as though he were carrying the tiniest, frailest of brides. The large boss-man sat behind his desk, bent over some paper work muttering about stupid rich people messing with shipping times. The man jumped as Bucky threw open the office door, causing it to slam into nearby filing cabinets.

"Barnes! What in the Devil's name are you doing in here?!"

"Mr. O'Conner, I found this boy in one of the crates off of Howard Stark's ship. He has a high fever, I need to take him to the hospital NOW, or he could die!"

"You can dump him in the alley like the trash he is and get back to work. He's a stowaway, Barnes. He probably caused trouble at home and ran away. We do not have any obligation to provide expensive care for illegal freeloaders on our clients' boats."

Bucky gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the extremely light body in his arms. He hated Mr. O'Conner with a fiery passion. The man was a cold hearted bastard and didn't care about anything besides his precious profit margins.

Bucky left the office, clutching the frail, fevered child closer to his chest. He could hear the boy's breath rattle alarmingly. Bucky let out a sigh of relief when he spotted one of his co-workers, Paul Johnson, stacking the last of his crates.

"Paul! I need to call you on that favor you owe me!" Bucky hollered. The favor that Paul owed him was from 5 years ago when Paul's wife, Diane, went into labor early. Paul's neighbor had come running into the port to let him know but when Paul asked Mr. O'Conner if he could have the rest of the day off, Mr. O'Conner said no. Bucky had then told Paul to go, that he would cover Paul's shift. As he was leaving, Paul told Bucky that he owed him one, and he would pay him back someday.

Paul looked up at Bucky. When he spotted the body in Bucky's arms he came running over. "Another stowaway? He barely looks old enough to be away from his mother," Paul murmured as he brushed his fingers though the boy's bangs, exposing a strange scar on the boy's forehead. Bucky stared at it in confusion for a second before looking at Paul again. _That scar almost looks like a lightning bolt._

"Get him to the hospital. I'll cover your shift, Diane would never forgive me if she found out that I didn't help you save this boy, she's so protective of our little girl."

Bucky nodded with a grateful smile and took off in the direction of the hospital. It was as he was running that he noticed how very frail and thin the boy was: he was lighter than Steve, who didn't weight much at all. Whoever this kid was, he most certainly did not have an easy life. Gazing at the boy's face, Bucky could not understand why anyone would want to harm such beautiful child. The boy had a small button nose set nicely on his heart-shaped face. His cheekbones has an aristocratic curve, making the boy look like belonged in a mansion if not for the humongous rags that hung from his lithe frame. Bucky couldn't help but stare at the boy's lips, they were chapped but somehow looked incredibly soft and kissable. Bucky wondered what would happen if he kissed those pouty lips, what would the boy taste like?

Bucky's thoughts panicked and confused him. He was not supposed to have thoughts like this. One, it was a sin; and two, if anyone ever found out, Bucky knew he could be put to death. This was a child, and no child should ever be thought of in that way. Bucky snapped out of his uncharacteristic and disturbing thoughts as he went through the doors of the hospital. A few doctors and nurses stopped what they were doing to stare at him before a nurse came over to see him.

"How can I help you, sir?" She asked, gazing at the boy.

"I found this boy in a shipping crate. He has a high fever and he's bleeding but I can't tell from where."

"Alright then, sir. We'll take him off your hands and you can head on your way," the nurse said as she reached for the boy. It was in that instant that the boy's eyes snapped open for the first time and he screamed as he stared at the nurse, or more accurately the cross around her neck. The boy started to struggle weakly against Bucky's grip, trying to get away.

"NO! NO!" the boy screamed. "I promise I'll be good, please don't give me to them! I won't be a freak anymore, I promise!" The boy was clinging to Bucky now, staring up at him with his unfocused, unnaturally green eyes. "Please," the boy whispered, his British accent slurring the word as his eyelids dropped and the boy returned to the unconscious world.

Bucky looked up from the boy's face to look at the nurse. She had lost all the color in her face and was gaping at the boy in shock, along with all the other doctors, nurses and patients on that floor. Bucky in that moment decided that the boy was going home with him. With that he left the hospital before anyone could snap out of their shock and stop him.

 _I'll take him back to the apartment. Steve has a doctor's appointment tonight at 5. It's only 4:30, I could get there in 30 minutes._

I hope you guys like it.

I'm having a little bit of trouble figuring out the start of the next chapter, so let me know if you have any ideas.

I'll post the next chapter when I've finished it.


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